Sunset in the Park

I love to walk along the Avon at sunset.







The sky, the silhouettes,



The perfect reflections by the water's edge













The swans enjoying a bedtime snack.













There is peace in Stratford in the evening's glow.

Visiting the Swans

It is springtime in Stratford, and I finally got down to the river to see how the swans are doing since their release. So far they all seem to be staying east of Tom Patterson Island.

People are enjoying feeding them, and fortunately remembering to just give them grain or greens.










We still seem to have the bully. I couldn't believe how fast he charged through the water to keep the others in line. One swan who didn't do as he demanded got a royal dressing down.

It looks like there will be plenty of entertainment from the herd again this year.

Imminent Release of the Swans

Stratford's waterfowl are itching to be on the water. Yesterday we dropped by their winter quarters to see how they were faring.






It seems that they have caught Spring fever. Maybe they have sensed that tomorrow, Easter Sunday, they will take part in the annual swan parade. With bagpipes on hand to announce the occasion, they will march proudly past the thousands of visitors who come to see this annual event. The scent of the water nearby is good reason to drop the winter lethargy and pick up speed as they march, or should I say 'waddle', along Morenz Drive to the freedom of the river. With a final burst of energy they will race the last few yards down the ramp and into the water.

For Stratford, the releasing of the swans is like the initiation rite of spring. After the last bird hits the water, the crowds who come to watch will make their way along the trail the runs by the river. It is like we heave a collective sigh of relief knowing that we have survived the Ontario winter. The swans are on the water and there is a communal sense that all is well.

Soon the swans who have found their lifelong mates will be busy preparing nests and before long we will witness once again the miracle of new life as cygnets and ducklings entertain us with their joie de vivre. Easter is indeed a season of new life, of new beginnings.

LIFE LESSON

June 21, 2009
A crowd gathered to watch, coaching from the sidelines, cheering them on, heaving a collective sigh of disappointment when once again they failed. The cygnets were facing their greatest challenge since leaving the nest.
The two oldest had already been out for their inaugural swim with the cob (male) while the pen (female) had continued to incubate the remaining blue-gray eggs in the clutch. These early arrivals had developed enough strength to climb the bank and join their parents, following their instinct to preen, using the serrated bill that functions like a comb in caring for the approximately 25,000 feathers that they will develop.

The parents had chosen a place to emerge from the water that offered a bit of a ramp. The four youngest, now on their first excursion into their new world, had been left in the water as Mom and Dad and the elder ones groomed themselves beneath the low-lying sun. It was at this point that I joined the crowd who had gathered to observe this lesson in nature.


Left behind at the river's edge, the remaining four repeatedly attempted to climb the bank. As they struggled valiantly to attain the shore, the crowd who watched were clearly intrigued. I found myself muttering, “Why doesn't she help them?”, wondering if they would die from exhaustion before being able to get out of the water. At one point Mom moved a little closer to the edge, as if to encourage them. I thought she would reach in and help them up, but no, she returned to attending to her feathers.

As I pondered this lack of assistance, I realized that I was observing a life lesson in progress. The ability to make it to shore was a skill they needed to learn. In my humanity I wanted Mom to help, to intervene, to make it easier for them. In the long run perhaps she, with nature's wisdom, knew that such assistance would actually deprive them of the opportunity to develop the strength they needed to survive.

We watched as long as we could, and still they remained at river's edge; she watching, they struggling.

I was away for the week-end. Tonight I will walk down to the river to find them. I hope there will still be six little ones. If so, no doubt they will be stronger. If not... I will need to submit to the truth that nature is not always kind.

Much of my information was obtained from Ivory, A. 2002. "Cygnus olor" http://animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu/site/accounts/information/Cygnus_olor.html.

BULLYING

June 15, 2009

It is with great sadness that I am writing to tell you that yesterday I was witness to a display of bullying such as I have not seen before. It happened here in my delightful Stratford, as I was out for a pleasant Sunday afternoon stroll around Lake Victoria. (That, by the way, is the rather elaborate name for a widening of our Avon River.)

I was taking photos of the duck situation which I mentioned on my first post (a group of 15 or so ducks, only 2 of which were female), when suddenly I heard an uproarious commotion behind me. One of our cobs (male swans) was on the war path! With wings spread wide and flapping furiously he changed another cob. The battle was on. He is a very strong swan, and quickly overtook the other, biting him on the tail end. I was relieved when the victim made his getaway. Head low to the ground in a menacing posture, with anger apparently unabated, the cob tackled the next living thing to cross his path, another swan who, fortunately being more agile than he, quickly fled the scene.



His vexation spent, he huffed and puffed and fluffed his wings, taking some time to regain his composure. When I passed by later, all was peaceful. It reminded me a little of the bard's famous quote.

“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” William Shakespeare Macbeth Act 5 Scene 5



My Stratford is indeed a place of unfolding drama.